GIFT  OF 


C.-I1I 


"Give  me  thy  lips  again 
That  I  may  swear  my  soul  anew  to  thee!' 

—Ronald. 

"O  that  I  had  a  thousand  hearts  to  give 
Instead  of  one, 
And  were  a  goddess  now, 
Then  heavens  lights  would  I  pluck 
To  weave  my  lover's  crown'' 

— Beatrice. 


LOVE'S  HOLY  HOUR 


OR 


The  Sacred  Betrothal  of  Ronald  and  Beatrice 


A  DRAMA  OF  THE  WEDDING  DAY 


NEANDER  P.  COOK 


THE  WEIMAR  PRESS 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA 

1913 


COPYRIGHT  1913 
By  P.  COOK 


LOVE'S  HOLY   HOUR 

By  NEANDER  P.  COOK 


REVIEWS 

This  powerful  drama  of  the  wedding-day  or 
evening  is  ostensibly  founded  upon  a  beautiful 
marriage  ceremony.  Between  the  various  per- 
sonages the  whole  story  of  human  love  is  told 
from  its  fir?t  inception  to  its  final  consummation. 
It  is  remarkable  that  though  since  the  beginning 
of  time  love  has  been  the  theme  of  poets  and 
novelists  alike,  yet  here  an  author  should  find  an 
entirely  new  mine  of  the  heart's  emotions.  Nearly 
all  the  characters  are  distinctly  new  literary  crea- 
tions. Beatrice,  the  heroine  and  bride,  involun- 
tarily suggesting  Dante's  beautiful  guide  through 
Paradise,  so  sweet  and  pure  is  she,  loves  not  only 
ideally  but  so  intensely  and  passionately,  that  she 
would  pluck  heaven's  lights  to  weave  her  lover's 
crown.  She  has  no  equal  anywhere  in  literature. 

ted. 

Then  there  is  Leonore,  the  bride's  mother,  a 
heroine  -of  whom  the  world  never  dreamt  and 
hitherto  unsung,  but  now  she  will  never  again  be 
forgotten.  Though  a  secondary  character,  she  is 
yet  almost  more  remarkable  than  Beatrice  her- 
self. Nowhere  has  the  word  motherhood  breathed 
more  fragrance  than  in  this  remarkable  woman, 
whether  it  be  in  the  pangs  she  secretly  feels  in 
growing  older,  or  watching  her  daughter's  nup- 
tials, when  she  exclaims,  "For  that  she  has  a 
mother,  a  bride  knows  not.  Ah,  woman  never 
gives  herself  alone:  her  own  and  her  mother's 
soul,  both  she  strews  at  her  lover's  feet." 

The  book  is  unique  in  that  it  does  not  gain  its 
power  from  the  tragedy  of  love,  but  rather  from 
its  idealism.  Its  lovers  are  happy  as  if  this  were 
a  sinless  world  and  as  if  human  passions  were 
yet  as  unstained  as  in  Paradise.  The  author  por- 
trays love  as  we  hope  it  will  yet  be.  He  is  dis- 
tinctly the  prophet  of  a  new  age.  Yet  so  genu- 
inely truthful  and  even  realistic  is  the  drama  that 


its  fine  idealism  is  not  felt  obtrusively.  And  the 
shadows  are  not  altogether  absent.  They  come 
in  full  force  in  Ragni,  the  outcast.  Here  the  quiv- 
ering flesh  of  the  cruelly  wronged  and  forsaken 
woman-heart  is  laid  bare  as  it  has  never  been 
done  before.  The  sin  of  society  against  the 
defenseless  mother  and  babe,  as  well  as  that  of 
the  faithless  lover,  form  a  portrait  as  soul-stirring 
as  anything  ever  written.  But  Ragni  rises  supe- 
rior to  her  suffering  when  she  finally  accepts  her 
lot,  declaring  that  "to  make  atonement  of  man's 
sin  was  woman  born." 

Another  distinctly  new  creation  is  Eunice,  the 
Unwooed,  sad,  sweet  story  of  an  unkissed  woman, 
compelling  the  deepest  reverence  for  her  kind. 

There  is  not  space  to  mention  the  others,  sis- 
ters or  bridesmaids,  nor  such  embellishments  as 
Cupid's  sermon  to  the  lovers  about  the  planting 
of  the  lily  of  the  valley,  culminating  with  the 
exhortation  to  "kiss  the  kiss  of  youth  as  lilies 
kiss,"  and  yet  to  kiss  it  again  "till  they  are  no 
longer  twain."  Or  Nereid's  story  of  woman's 
creation  nor  Cunina's  desire  to  trade  heaven  for 
a  lover's  kiss,  all  as  pretty  pieces  of  truth  and 
fiction  as  ever  conceived.  And  lastly,  wonderfully 
delicate  is  the  story  of  the  lovers  in  Fensalir,  the 
temple  of  immortality,  where  they  kiss  "an  ever- 
lasting kiss."  Life's  holiest  experience  has  never 
been  more  finely  portrayed  and  well  has  one 
woman  said  of  it  that  it  is  "^hakespeare's  art,  but 
without  his  vulgarity." 

It  is  a  book  one  wants  to  read  again  and  again. 
It  is  a  new  view  of  life.  We  do  not  know  whether 
we  want  to  agree  or  disagree.  The  author  has  a 
faculty  by  a  single  line  of  letting  loose  upon  us  a 
whole  regiment  of  new  problems.  It  is  a  book 
we  want  to  keep  and  yet  involuntarily  we  want 
to  give  it  to  our  friends.  It  is  such  a  genuine 
find.  The  publishers  deserve  commendation  for 
the  simple  and  tasteful  dress  they  have  given  it. 
In  more  ways  than  one  it  is  the  ideal  gift  volume. 


"If  all  the  world  loves  a  lover,  then  all  lovers 
all  over  the  world  will  be  delighted  with  one  of 
the  sweetest  love  songs  ever  written.  In  all  the 


range  of  literature  we  know  nothing  which  as 
delightfully  tells  the  story  of  pure  love  or  more 
sweetly  idealizes  the  passion  which  stirs  all 
hearts." — The  Independent,  Los  Angeles. 


"A  wonderful  little  book,  published  by  the  Wei- 
mar Press  of  Los  Angeles,  Cal.,  lies  on  my  table. 
It  is  'Love's  Holy  Hour/  a  drama  of  the  wedding- 
day,  by  Neander  P.  Cook.  I  opened  this  book 
with  some  prejudice  against  it,  as  a  poem,  from  a 
way-out-of-the-way  corner.  I  soon  got  entirely 
over  my  distaste  for  it,  and  I  can  say  to  thought- 
ful readers,  that  this  book,  while  somewhat  radi- 
cal, is  also  decidedly  beautiful  in  diction,  charm- 
ing in  conception,  and  all  the  way  through  worth 
studying.  If  you  are  not  prepared  to  read  it,  lay 
it  aside  for  some  day  when  you  have  had  a  new 
conception  of  life." — E.  P.  Powell,  in  Unity. 


"There  came  stealing  into  the  office  the  other 
day  a  dainty  little  volume,  containing  an  ex- 
quisite word  painting  of  the  marriage  of  two  ted. 
young  persons  whose  love  for  one  another  pos- 
sessed that  deep  spiritual  quality  which  is  all  too 
rare.  It  really  doesn't  matter  whether  one  be 
married  or  unmarried,  old  or  young,  this  book 
will  bring  to  them  a  message  of  sweetness  and 
purity  and  spirituality,  yet  through  it  all  the 
spiritual  is  intimately  associated  with  the  physi- 
cal just  as  it  is  in  real  life.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
better  book  to  send  a  young  man  or  a  young 
woman  about  to  be  married." — The  Business 
Philosopher,  Sheldon  University. 


Published  by  the  Weimar  Press,  3015  S.  Main 
St.,  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

Art   edition,   50  cents;   five   copies   to   one   ad- 
dress, $2.00.     Do  not  send  stamps. 

Bride's    edition,    net,    hand    bound    white    kid 
leather,  $3.00. 


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A  YOUTH,  A  MAIDEN, 
AND  A  KISS 


They  walked  together, 

They  talked  together, 

His  voice  grew  soft, 

Her  heart  beat  loud. 

Softer  still  his  Voice, 

Louder  still  her  heart; 

Then  language  failed: 

,/J  kiss — a  conquered  heart, 

'Tis  done: 

The  binding 

That  shall  have  no  unwinding. 

From  the  Symphony,  ACT  I,  in  LOVE'S  Hoi 
HOUR. 


al 
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Prefatory. 

Gentle  Reader!     This  book, 
Like  other  tomes, 
Its  pictures  hath, 

But  not  with  printer-presses  painted. 
In  thy  own  soul's  color 
The  images  are  drawn. 
Sit  and  ponder! 
The  motto — text  is  given  thee: 
The  sermon  preach  thyself. 


"Put  off  thy  shoes 
From  off  thy  feet: 
For  the  place  whereon  thou  standest, 
Is  holy  ground." 

—Bible. 


PRAYER. 

BRIDAL  Hour, 
Thou  Holy  Hour  of  Love: 
Unfathomed  Mystery 
Of  Life's  Eternal  Throb : 

Grant?  to  this  Youth  and  Maiden 

Their  Prayer  of  Hope 

And  once  again  fill  a  Cup 

With  Eden's  Bliss, 

That,  to  the  Heart's  coy  Trysting  come, 

Soul  into  Soul  outpouring 

They  may  drink, 

Deep  and  full, 

Creation's  Morning-Kiss. 


LIFE'S   SYMPHONY. 
A  Youth,  a  Maiden  and  a  Kiss. 

HEY  walked  together, 
They  talked  together, 
His  voice  grew  soft, 
Her  heart  beat  loud. 

Softer  still  his  voice 

Louder  still  her  heart, 

Then  language  failed: 

A  kiss — a  conquered  heart. 

'Tis  done: 

The  binding 

That  shall  have  no  unwinding. 


LOVE  AND  LIFE. 
An  Essay. 

"Sitting  at  the  whirring  loom  of  time 
of  the  Infinite  God, 
The  living  garment  weaving." 

—Goethe. 

To  the  attentive  observer  of  nature  it  soon  becomes 
manifest  that  she  has  but  one  goal,  viz.,  the  super- 
abundance of  life:  life  in  innumerable  forms,  in  count- 
less variations  and  endless  ecstasies,  a  mantle  covering 
completely  the  habitable  sphere,  penetrating  every 
nook  and  cranny  in  earth  and  sea  and  air,  pulsating 
and  throbbing  with  miraculous  intensity,  the  very  self- 
realization  of  the  Infinite  God.  It  is  a  harp  of  a  thou- 
sand chords,  of  whose  music  our  joys  and  sorrows 
form  component  parts  and  counterparts,  but  who  He 
is  that  sounds  it  according  to  His  will,  Him  we  know 
only  from  afar,  for  we  are  but  the  finite  atoms  of  the 
Infinite  Soul  pouring  itself  forth  in  eternal  strains. 

Life  is  creative.  It  finds  its  fullest  expression  in  a 
gradually  advancing  evolution  through  ceaseless  self- 
renewal.  All  nature  dies  today  in  order  that  more 
triumphantly  she  may  be  re-born  tomorrow.  The  old 
are  passing  on  that  there  may  be  room  for  youth  with 
new  wooing  days,  so  that  life  be  not  merely  endless, 
but  that  immortality  may  run  its  course  in  a  ceaseless 
nuptial  kiss. 

It  is  in  her  wedding  raiment,  love's  springtime,  that 
nature  is  most  beautiful  and  divine.  Life's  greatest 
achievement  is  Love.  The  Bridal  Wreath  is  creation's 
crown. 


THE  SACRED  BETROTHAL  OF  RONALD 
AND  BEATRICE. 

Dramatis   Personae : 

MOM  us,  God  of  Satire. 

AMOR,  God  of  Love. 

RONALD,  KNIGHT  OF  OFTERDINGEN,  Bridegroom. 

BEATRICE,  DAUGHTER  TO  LOTHAR,  BARON  OF  ALT- 
NACH,  Bride. 

LEONORE,  Mother  to  Beatrice. 

BRIDESMAIDS. 

FLOWER-GIRLS. 

BERTHELIND,  ETHELRIED,  ROSAMUND,  Sisters  to  Bea- 
trice. 

RAGNI,  an  Outcast. 

CUPID,  God  of  Love. 

The  Heavenly  Choir. 

NAIAD  AND  NEREID,  Bridal  Nymphs. 

CUNINA,  the  Disconsolate  Nymph  of  Heaven. 

THE  FURIES. 

HERA,  Goddess  of  Health. 

PRAYER  OF  THE  UNBORN. 

EUNICE,  THE  UN  WOOED,  a  Bridesmaid. 

Scene : 

Castle  Ofterdingen,  in  the  Thuringian  Forests,  in  part. 
The  Hlysian  Regions  in  Heaven,  in  part.  Fen- 
salir,  Temple  of  Immortality.  Adnir,  the  Abode 
of  the  Unborn. 

Time: 

The  Nuptial  Day. 

Period : 

The  Middle  Ages. 


10 


PRELUDE. 

Momus,   god  of  satire. 
Amor,  god  of  love. 

MOMUS  (satirically),  to  Amor: 

On  virgin  tongues, 

0  Amor,  there  goes  a  tale 
Of  two  lovers, 

Named  Tristan  and  Isolde, 
Which  tale  a  riddle  holds 

1  trow  thou  canst  not  solve. 

Isolde  was  daughter  to  a  king, 
But  Tristan  not  of  royal  blood. 
And  as  ever  hadst  thou  thy  mischief  wrought 
That  they  who  lawfully  wed 
Ne'er  truly  love : 
Nor  they  that  truly  love 
May  at  the  altar  plight  their  troth. 
And  as  the  statutes  of  mankind 
Ofttimes  asunder  part 
They  whom  the  gods  unite 
To  save  the  state's  foundation, 
It  was  decreed  to  break  two  hearts ; 
With  sacred  rite  and  legal  pomp 
The  maiden  was  to  another  wed, 
And  Tristan  to  the  desert  banished. 

But  that  night  Isolde 
Harnessed  her  snow-white  doves, 
Who  with  heaven's  aid 
To  her  lover  carried  her, 
And  then  died  of  the  desert-thirst. 

'Twas  more  than  three  days'  journey 
Into  the  wilderness, 
—So  goes  the  tale — 
And  no  other  shelter  there 
Than  in  the  stone  the  Minnegrotto  cleft, 
Yet  three  years 
These  lovers  lived 
Content  and  happy  there, 
And  so  witchingly  each  other  loved 
That  their  love 
The  hope  of  maidens  is. 


11 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

Now  tell  me,  thou  gay  deceiver, 
Whence  in  the  desert  came  their  bread 
And  whence  their  drink? 
For  without  temporal  sustenance 
Soon  vanishes 
Love's  idle  dream. 

AMOR  (seriously},  to  Momus: 

O  Momus,  to  sceptics  such  as  thou 
Truth  opens  not  her  silver  mines. 
The  tale  is  true, 

For  where  love  is,  there  is  no  desert. 
And  what  they  ate  and  drank? — 
The  lovers  on  each  other  gazed: 
The  harvest  of  the  eye 
Was  their  food  sufficient. 
Each  other's  confidence 
And  openheartedness, 
Which  is  the  true  bread 
Of  wedded  souls, 

These  were  the  fruits  they  freely  plucked. 
So  true  their  love, 
So  pure  their  hearts, 
That  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
These  trusting  souls  their  favor  showed. 
It  is  no  mystery : 
Stony  wastes  are  not  love's  limit 
And  plighted  hearts  from  obstacles 
Draw  the  relish  of  their  feast. 

INTERLUDE. 
The  Maiden  and  Her  Trousseau. 

A  maiden  singing: 

My  heart  is  hopeful, 
My  heart  is  heavy, 
My  heart  is  singing, 
My  heart  is  dumb, 
The  flower  once  plucked 
Can  never  bloom  again. 
Short  is  the  morning-kiss 
And  long  the  day: 
A  two-fold  meaning 
Hath  the  bridal  dress. 

12 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 


ACT  I.     BEATRICE. 
Prolog. 

'Twas  a  June  day  memorable : 
The  birds  sang  sweeter, 
And  the  evening  star  shone  brighter, 
When  Lord  Ronald 
The  Lady  Beatrice  did  wed: 
For  never  gallant  knight 
A  lovelier  maiden 
To  her  bridal  consecration  led. 


BEATRICE'S  FAREWELL  TO  HER 
TRYSTING-PLACE. 

A  copse  near  the  castle  on  the  Ofterdingen  estate. 

BEATRICE,  before  donning  her  bridal  garments,  has 
absented  herself  from  the  festivities,  to  take  fare- 
ivell  of  her  favorite  try  sting-place. 

For  just  once  more, 
For  my  last  farewell, 
— Before  the  ring  forever 
To  another's  will  commits  my  happiness — 
To  thee,  my  faithful  tree, 
I  flee. 

Thou  hast  heard  his  pleading 
And  witnessed  my  consenting 
Hast  seen  how  bright  and  golden, 
And  jewel-studded,  he  showed  the  chain 
By  which  to  his  authority 
He  is  intent  to  shackle  me, 
Persuading  me  that  bondage  to  him 
Is  greater  freedom  than  my  liberty. 


13 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

If  it  ever  be 

The  bondage  in  his  kisses, 

In  his  endearing  arms, 

In  love's  unfailing  rapture, 

O  then  of  iron 

Let  my  bonds  be  wrought 

But  now,  before  the  gate  forever  closes, 
While  yet  my  soul  is  mine, 
Its  virgin  conscience  writing-free, 
Before  I  yield  my  all, 

And  plunge  into  the  ransom-spurning  deep, 
O  my  guardian  tree, 
Tell  me  truly  now: 
Will  his  love  endure? 
His  kisses  last? 
Steadfast  his  heart  abide  ? 
And  his  assurance  never  shadow  throw? 
For,  O,  if  from  that  golden  chain 
The  jewels  drop, 

And  from  his  eye  the  love-light  die, 
And  from  his  voice  the  mellow  accent  fade, 
Then  tongue  can  never  tell 
The  anguish  of  my  stricken  heart. 

Thou  wert  the  sponsor  of  our  troth, 
Does  the  rustling  of  thy  leaves 
Dare  to  tell  me  eye  to  eye 
That  Ronald  is  a  lover  true, 
A  lover  to  the  end? 


So  gently  thy  boughs  bend  low 
And  twine  with  the  vine 
To  the  graceless  world 
Undiscolsed  to  hold  this  bower  mine. 

I  came  upon  this  place  when  a  child 
I  gathered  blue-berries  wild. 
Here  I  sobbed  my  infant  griefs, 
Here  I  prayed  my  real  prayers : 
Did  my  penance, 
And  walked  with  God. 
Here  I  built  my  castles  of  hope 
And  hid  myself 

For  my  prince  to  light  upon  me. 
— My  lover  led  I  here, 
And  none,  never  none  else. 


14 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

The  voices  of  the  bridesmaids  are  heard,  calling  the 
bride. 

The  maidens  call  me  now. 

0  why  so  eager  to  prepare  me  captive? 
A  two-fold  meaning  hath  the  bridal  dress. 

1  am  willing,  but  there  is  time, 

For  anon,  then,  virgins,  call  in  vain. 

In  my  last  leave-taking  let  me  linger: 

'Tis  my  girlhood's  sanctuary 

I  must  leave  forever, 

For  the  last  hour  my  own, 

Then  his— 

A  consort? 

Or  passion's  puppet? 

Which  ? 

Ah,  me !  Soothsaying  never  avails 

When  maiden-hopes 

Their  heart-strings  anchor. 

*         *         * 

This  is  the  place 
Where  Ronald  the  brave 
Hath  wooed  me  so  gently  and  fiercely, 
Wooed  me  as  maiden  loves  to  be  wooed 
By  the  tyrant-ruler  of  woman's  heart. 
This  is  the  branch, 
And  this  is  the  root 

Where  so  often  I  made  him  sit. 
*         * 

Thus  his  arms  would  round  me  steal, 

Thus  on  his  bosom  I  reclined, 

Thus  would  he  speak  his  love, 

And  thus  he  kissed  my  lips, 

— Nectar  such  as  angels  never  drank. — 

How  strong,  how  noble  he  is, 
So  fearless,  so  daring. 
'Twas  in  yonder  field, 
Ethelried  and  I,  daisies  we  sought, 
When  my  father's  mad  steer  he  braved. 
The  awful  horns  I  felt 
Entangled  in  my  dress. 
Then  Ronald's  wild  cry, 
His  terrible  cry  of  war,  I  heard, 
— How  sweet  to  me  the  sound. — 
He  seized  the  beast 
And  choked  the  fuming  nostrils. 
O  terrible  the  battle, 

15 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

Round  and  round  they  circled, 

Great  drops  of  sweat  fell  from  his  brow : 

A  groan,  a  mighty  pull, 

And  awry  was  wrenched 

The  stiff  neck  of  the  brute. 

But  to  me,  how  gentle  he  is, 
Softly,  as  among  downs, 
I  nestle  in  his  strength, 
And,  as  upon  velvet, 
I  lay  my  cheek  in  his  hands, 
And  gaze  into  the  light  of  his  eyes. 
— O  the  happiness  that  here  has  been  mine ! 

I  watched  him  carve  his  name 
Into  the  bark  of  the  tree, 
Then  over  it  traced  he  mine : 
Said  he  ever  holds  me  above  him. 
And  made  a  circle  around  both  : 
Said  it  was  love's  fortress, 
As  valiant  knight  he  would  for  me  defend. 

Then  from  near  my  feet 
He  plucked  violets 
And  twined  them  into  my  locks, 
And  pelted  me  with  apple-blossoms, 
And  from  yonder  brook 
Gathered  forget-me-nots  and  buttercups, 
And  luscious  berries  out  of  the  meadow 
— With  kisses  between — he  gave  me  to  eat, 
And  seized  me  in  his  arms 
And  kissed  me  more. 
So  Ronald  hath  loved  me  here 
As  maiden  was  never  loved  before, 
But,  farewell,  sweet  trysting-place,  fare-well : 
The  seal  of  my  fate 
Boldly  I  break. 

AT  THE  CASTLE. 

Ended  is  the  wedding-banquet, 
The  merry  crowd  hath  danced  its  last, 
The  boisterous  guests  departed : 
The  nuptial  benediction 
Ofterdingen's  walls  o'erspreads. 
Bride  and  bridegroom  the  holy  hour  approach, 
And  angel-spirits  hover  near, 
As  the  lovers  to  the  feast  of  love  draw  nigh 
To  drink  the  cup  of  Paradise 
The  gods  to  men  have  given. 

16 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 


INTERLUDE. 
The  Woodland  Flower. 

A  maiden  singing: — 

A  youth  went  for  adventures  forth 

Far  from  the  city's  grime, 

Far  from  travel's  hardened  path, 

Into  the  ivoodland  and  forest  deep. 

There  came  he  upon  a  rare  and  precious  flower. 

The  flower  would  he  pluck, 

And  rashly  tear  the  bleeding  stem 

From  its  twining  rootlets  forth. 

The  petals  quivered, 

Softly  sang  the  nightingale  above: 

Heal  what  thou  hast  broken 

With  thy  kiss; 

Inviolate  with  thee 

Remain  the  beauty  of  her  soul. 


17 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

ACT  II.     THE  SACRED  WEDDING. 
The  Bridal  Suite  at  Castle  Ofterdingen. 

(Note:  In  the  ancient  Thuringian  marriage  there  often 
was  at  the  conclusion  of  the  public  wedding  a  more  sacred 
wedding  in  which  only  the  chosen  friends  of  bride  and 
bridegroom  participated.  There  was  an  arch  for  the  bride 
to  pass  through  into  her  new  life,  an  altar  to  denote  her 
consecration  and  she  also  wore  a  symbolical  girdle  and 
a  wreath  of  flowers.) 

Part  I.    Song  of  the  Bridesmaids. 

Song  addressed  the  bridegroom,  while  leading  his  bride 
through  the  bridal  arch. 

Tenderly  now  take  thy  bride. 
In  thy  heart  enshrine  her, 
With  thy  soul  adore  her, 
Thy  queen  appoint  her, 
As  the  apple  of  thine  eye 
Do  thou  guard  her. 
Inviolate  with  thee 
Remain  the  beauty  of  her  soul. 

Song  addressed  to  the  bride,  standing  by  her  lover's 
side. 

To-day  though  art  fair, 
Yet  on  the  morrow  shalt  thou  fairer  be. 
To-day  thou  art  the  rosy  bud, 
To-morrow  the  unfolding  bloom. 
Thy  crown  is  now  preparing 
For  the  noon-tide  sun 
Thy  morning  to  eclipse. 
Then,  O,  our  sister,  as  thy  lips 
The  kiss  of  womanhood  receive, 
Do  thou  pray  for  us, 
For  to  Life's  priestess 
Of  Heaven  nothing  is  denied. 

The  flowers  of  thy  wreath 
Now  cast  to  us 
As  sacred  token 

That  before  twelve  moons  have  passed 
We,  too,  the  golden  path  shall  walk. 

Part  II.     Leonore. 

Mother,  to  Beatrice,  aside: 

Thus  of  the  jewels  of  the  mother-heart 

Builds  youth  its  summer-house : 

And  with  lavish  hands 

18 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

Scatters  the  gems 

Of  tears  and  anxious  watching 

As  if  it  were  the  sea-shore's  sand. 

Her  that  is  more  than  life  to  me 

To  him  I  give: 

Yet  must  not  show  the  trickling  tear 

And  without  sign  of  loss 

Renounce  my  bosom-treasure, 

Because  a  wooer 

On  her  his  eye  hath  cast. 

Joy  for  them  her  garlands  winds 

While  sorrow  beckons  me 

The  dreary  path  with  her  to  walk. 

0  motherhood,  thou  meaning-laden  word, 
Storehouse  of  the  heart's 
Unfathomed  treasuries, 

From  doll  to  wedding-bells, 

And  thence  to  children's  children, 

Thy  tortuous  emotions 

Run  the  gamut  of  a  woman's  heart. 

Half  joy,  half  pain: 

Yet  neither  would  I  miss 

For  of  the  higher  and  the  lower  chords 

Thy  soul-deep  harmony  is  wrought. 

I  knew  my  spring  was  past. 
Yet  in  my  fancy  proudly  wore 
The  summer's  bloom  upon  my  brow, 
—Since  Venice's  mirrors 
Have  not  yet  tinged  my  hair  with  gray — 
When  Berthelind,  my  first-born,  came, 
Drew  me  aside,  and  stammered : 
"Mother,  O  Grandmother  dear." 
Then  I  heard  the  toll  of  autumn  leaves, 
And  bade  my  quivering  heart 
Turn  to  view  the  setting  sun. 

1  can  grow  no  more, 
No  longer  glad  surprises 
Are  held  for  me  in  store. 
Hence  only  can  I  give : 
Nevermore  receive. 

My  joy  must  be 

With  others  to  rejoice, 

And  from  younger  faces 

Wipe  the  tears, 

Friend,  counselor  and  guide 

19 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 


Through  life's  entangled  mazes 

Perchance  I  may  yet  be : 

But  actor  on  the  stage 

In  its  enchanted  dream? 

Not  once  again. 

— Gone  are  my  days  of  youth. 

Ah,  for  love, 

Life  is  much  too  short. 

'Twas  but  yesterday 
Tiny  garments  I  fashioned 
In  hope  of  promises  yet  unfulfilled. 
(With  daring  I  had  braved  the  dawn, 
And  with  a  song  my  eager  heart, 
If  fate  had  so  ordained, 
To  its  execution  would  have  gone.) 
But  to-day  with  other  feelings 
I  watch  my  daughters  do  the  same. 

One  by  one 

Are  my  blossoms  plucked 
To  shine  for  other  eyes. 
Soon  a  branchless  tree, 
Of  its  glory  shorn, 
I  stand. 

See  how  he  snatches  her  from  me, 
And  as  robber  to  his  lair 
He  carries  her. 
And  she  herself 
Bids  me  welcome 
The  spoiler  of  my  heart: 
For  that  she  has  a  mother 
A  bride  knows  not. 

Ah,  woman  never  gives  herself  alone : 
Her  own,  and  her  mother's  soul, 
Both  she  strews  at  her  lover's  feet. 

Yet  do  I  acknowledge 
That  dear  to  me  is  Ronald : 
Since  I  of  my  son, 
And  he  of  his  mother  is  bereft. 
When  first  to  me 
Beatrice  brought  him  in 
He  grasped  my  hand  and  kissed  it 
And  faintly  lisped  the  wonder-word 
"Mother"  unto  me. 


20 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

Then  tears  filled  his  pleading  eye. 

I  kissed  him  on  the  brow 

And  softly  answered,  "Son," 

Then  left  them  to  each  other, 

Fled  to  my  room  and  wept ; 

For  in  tears  alone  the  woman-heart 

Can  gush  its  fulness  forth. 

But  to-night,  not  yet 
Is  the  time  of  tears, 
A  little  longer 

Must  I  steel  myself  against  the  floods 
That  no  discord  in  their  joy  be  heard. 
With  happy  mien  will  I  stand 
Till  the  breaking  of  all  ties  is  done : 
Then  will  I  take  my  empty  heart 
And  we  will  weep, 
Alone  will  we  weep. 

Part  III.     The  Flower-Girls. 

YOUNG    FLOWER-GIRL    (passing    through    the    bridal 
arch) : 

I  know  not  what  I  carry, 

Nor  why  upon  this  altar 

These  flowers  so  tremblingly  I  lay. 

My  heart,  O  my  heart, 

With  fear  and  joy 

It  flutters  strange  and  full. 

I  know  a  youth  so  fair, 

He  looked  on  me  the  other  day  : 

O  what  meant  his  look? 

What  meant  his  look  ? 

SECOND  FLOWER-GIRL: — 

With  reverence  this  flower 
From  thy  bridal  girdle 
To  my  breast  I  pin : 
For  I  am  older,  sisters,  than  you  think, 
My  heart  is  ready, 
Pining,  ah,  for  him 
Who  is  my  sun. 

To  my  lips  this  flower  I  press, 
Now  do  I  consecrate  myself : 
After  this  no  other  kiss, 
Till  he  whose  right  it  is 
Shall  come. 

21 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 


OLDER  FLOWER-GIRL,  aside: 


O  lover  mine! 
Why  dost  thou  tarry? 
Pluck  up  thy  courage 
And  make  bold 
To  ask  of  me  the  question 
Which  most  I  dread, 
Yet  almost  dying,  long  to  hear. 

0  lisp  the  pregnant  word 

That  shall  make  me  faint  and  pale 
And  shake  me  as  an  aspen  leaf. 
To  thy  arrow 

1  my  heart  lay  bare. 

O  ask  of  me, 
And  ask  enough 
That  I  be  no  longer  free, 
But  be  pledged  forever  unto  thee. 


Sister   to  Beatrice,   one   of   the   Brides- 
maids: 

I  must  not,  I  dare  not  tell, 
Yet  silence  cannot  keep, 
Have  ever  you  seen 
A  face  so  blushing, 
And  lips  so  red  as  mine? 
A  girl  as  a  dove  so  shy 
And  happy  as  the  lark? 

The  reason?  — 
He  hath  kissed  me, 
—  Much,  O  much,  against  my  will.  — 
And  I  kissed  him  back 
(Against  my  will). 
He  clasped  me  in  his  arms, 
He  drew  me  to  his  breast, 
I  said  "You  must  not!" 
He  drew  me  closer, 
(I  could  not  breathe), 
I  held  him  fast, 
And  kissed  once  more. 
How  many  followed,  I  cannot  confess  : 
For  you  would  never  believe  me 
They  could  be  so  many, 
So  sweet  and  so  long. 
'Tis  our  secret, 


22 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

For  our  love  is  true : 

I  am  happy, 

His  kiss  hath  made  me  so. 

A  BRIDESMAID,  to  herself:- 

When  for  the  holy  war 
From  our  village  he  departed, 
He  took  me  by  the  hand : 
He  pressed  it  warmly, 
Then  caressed  it, 
And  looked  into  my  eyes 
Down  into  my  heart. 
He  went, 
And  never  message  has  he  sent  me. 

0  men  are  fickle, 
Men  are  false. 

Perhaps  he  meant  it  not, 
But  my  heart  is  heavy. 
He  broke  the  sacred  seal, 
And  kept  the  key: 

1  cannot  be  another's, 
Yet  he  claims  me  not. 
I  am  forsaken. 

In  the  silent  watches  of  the  night 
I  shed  my  burning  tears, 
The  vision  faileth  me, 
My  hope  is  dimmed, 
My  heart  is  sore. 

ROSAMUND,  Beatrice's  youngest  sister: 

O  Beatrice,  the  dearest  of  my  sisters. 

Till  Ronald  came 

All  thy  heart  I  possessed. 

(Mayhap  for  thy  sake 

Do  I  forgive  him). 

O  the  men — 
From  thy  lips 

Thy  last  virgin  kiss 

Have  I  come  to  snatch, 

And  well-guarded 

Will  I  keep  it  in  my  vow 

Never  to  be  bound  or  wed : 

For  youth's  holiday 

In  the  marriage-ring  is  ended. 

Each  wedding  leaner  makes 

My  comradeship. 

23 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

Berthelind  scarce  knows  me  now 
«  Since  her  baby  came 

(The  sweet  little  thief) 

— She  says  I  do  not  understand — 

And  in  her  happiness 

No  room  for  me  hath  Ethelried, 

In  a  day  is  she  a  woman  grown : 

She  romps  with  me  no  more. 

And,  dearest  Beatrice, 

I  know  it  well, 

As  to  thy  lover  thou  art  closer  drawn 

To  me  wilt  thou  colder  grow. 

I  hate  the  men, 

The  cause  of  this 

And  all  of  woman's  griefs. 

I  hate  them  all — 

All  but  One. 

BERTHELIND,  Beatrice's  married  sister,  while  the  bridal 
candles  and  incense  are  lit,  in  a  whisper: 

O  sister  dear,  the  fairest  of  us  four, 
Soon  at  life's  altar  shalt  thou  stand 
And  heaven's  blessing  claim. 
Let  me  whisper  in  thy  ear 
Not  to  fear 

When  the  dawn  of  womanhood 
Thy  being  thrills. 
Thy  lover  is  an  honorable  man, 
(I've  read  it  in  his  eye) 
Tender  and  kind, 
Strong  to  rule  the  unruly  realm. 
Unwaveringly  cast  thyself  into  his  trust 
And  without  question 
Give  as  woman  gives. 

With  gladness 

Thy  treasure  shalt  thou  bear, 
The  hallowed  secret  know, 
And  find  thy  nature's  satisfying, 
For  the  tenderest  joy 
Of  the  deepest  pain  is  born. 


24 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

Part  IV.     Final  Chorus  of  the  Bridesmaids. 

(While  leaving  the  bridal  bower.) 

A  bridegroom  so  handsome, 
So  manly, 
To  thy  safekeeping 
We  commit  our  sister 
Spotless  as  Eve  in  Paradise 
Heaven's  perfect  handiwork. 
With  thy  strength  overshadow  her, 
With  thy  life  redeem  her: 
Worthily  to  thy  arms 
Receive  her!     Good-Night. 

Chorus  of  the  Flower-Girls. 

Flowers  red,  flowers  white, 
Flowers  young,  flowers  fresh, 
Flowers  enchanted,  flowers  prophesying 
At  thy  feet  we  strew : 
For  thy  path 

Is  the  path  of  roses  and  of  lilies : 
The  mystery  that  with  the  rainbow's  halo 
Shall  thy  face  transform: 
For  youth's  one  sweetest  hour 
Is  the  bridal  hour. — Good-Night. 

ACT  III.     RAGNI,  THE  OUTCAST. 

RAGNI,  a  former  companion  of  Beatrice  and  her 
friends,  but  now  an  outcast,  has  stealthily  ap- 
proached the  castle-window,  and  with  her  young 
babe  secretly  watched  the  nuptials: 

O  Beatrice,  never  canst  thou  know 

How  the  innocent  do  suffer. 

'Tis  well  thou  thinkest  not  of  me  this  hour, 

For  I  would  not  mar  thy  joy : 

Only  from  afar  behold 

What  for  myself  I  hoped. 

Yet  each  flower  in  thy  wreath 

Is  to  my  side  a  pricking  thorn. 

I  loved  so  much,  so  truly, 

And  trusted  so  confidingly: 

I  believed  him  honest  as  myself. 

But  he  basely  left  me: 

Left  me  with  the  pledge 

Of  woman's  crowning-glory: 

The  babe  that  now  proclaims  my  shame. 

25 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

Proud  as  the  proudest 
By  his  side  would  I  have  walked, 
And  with  my  infant  shown  myself 
At  every  public  concourse  triumphant 
That  I  am  not  a  woman  born  in  vain. 
But,  ah,  my  darling, 
How  heavily  thy  father's  sins 
Do  fall  upon  us ! 

He  forsook  me, 
Broke  the  oath  he  swore  me: 
Wherefore,  O  my  sisters,  ye  tread  me  under 

foot. 

Ye  mock  me  for  my  trust, 
And  hold  your  skirts  aloof  from  me 
As  if  I  were  a  viper. 
With  fresh  stumbling  blocks 
Ye  daily  pave  my  thorny  path. 
I  am  cast  off, 

Therefore  ye  declare  me  fallen. 
O  for  a  friendly  tear, 
A  sympathizing  heart ! 
But  alas  there  is  no  bosom-friend, 
Nor  boon-companion,  nor  sister 
For  her  whom  her  lover  wronged. 

But  for  my  babe,  in  part 
Ye  would  forgive  me. 
—As  if  the  sin  were  less 
That  is  in  secret  done. — 
Ye  know  not  what  I  suffer: 
Ye  know  not  how  I  love 
This  orphan-child,  ye  call  a  bastard, 
And  a  child  of  sin. 
Nay,  to  me  'tis  a  child  of  succor, 
'Twas  born  of  faith  and  love, 
'Tis  my  inmost  own 
Twice  am  I  its  mother 
Once  in  the  God-appointed  pains 
And  now  in  persecution. 
Why  do  ye  judge  so  harshly : 
The  child  sinned  not, 
And  I,  its  mother, 
Suffer,  as  no  other  mortals  suffer. 
His  father's  love  hath  failed  him, 
But  never  faileth 
Mother-love  and  woman's  constancy. 

26 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

Ah,  my  fatherless  darling, 
On  what  unfriendly  shores  art  thou  cast. 
The  righteous  wish  thee  dead, 
The  scoffers  mark  thee  as  the  harlot's  child, 
And  hypocrites  hail  thee 
As  the  welcome  prod 
To  gash  my  bleeding  heart  anew. 
Because  thy  father  left  us 
Must  we  ever  tremble 
As  the  sparrow  from  the  hawk, 
And  walk  with  downcast  eyes, 
And  creep  about  by  night, 
(For  in  the  sunlight  scorners  sit) 
And  ever  eat  our  bread  in  tears  ? 

0  let  us  heaven's  judgment  seek, 
For  surely  He  that  knows  it  all 
Cannot  be  so  unmerciful 

As  is  the  world  to  her 
Who  loved  and  was  forsaken. 
Come,  my  sleeping  darling, 
Thy  mother  never  was  a  bride; 
(Unholy  hands  robbed  us  of  our  crown) 
Let  us  end  our  misery. 
'Twas  at  yonder  lake 
On  a  mild  autumn  night, 
The  grass  was  yet  green, 
The  leaves  were  gold  and  yellow, 

1  with  my  lover  sat 
(Then  still  a  lover  true) 

—When  heaven  our  betrothal  witnessed. — 

There,  in  the  cool  waves, 
Of  that  self-same  lake 
Will  we  find  the  soothing  of  our  sorrow. 

She  seizes  her  babe  and  in  a  fit  of  despair  runs  with 
it  to  the  lake.  As  she  arrives  at  its  shores,  the  moon 
stands  full  above  the  forest.  The  babe  azvakens  and 
opens  its  eyes. 

One  last  look  now,  the  very  last, 
Into  these  sweet  blue  eyes. 
A   kiss,  then  the  grewsome  murmur  of   the 

waves, 
And  all  is  over. 

Ah,  my  babe,  thou  wert  his  covenant  of  love. 
In  thine  eyes  I  see  him  once  again, 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

His  better  self  is  there : 
How  could  he  do  it? 
Warm  upon  the  bed 
In  another's  arms  now  he  lies, 
And  thou  and  I,  how  we  suffer 
Homeless  in  the  cold ! 

0  God,  we  come : 

In  thy  mercy  this  thy  child  receive. 
(Walks  to  the  brink  of  the  water,  but  hesitates  for 
a  moment) 

Nay,  but  thou  art  his  child, 
And  my  heart  not  wholly  closed  to  him. 
— But  vain  is  my  hope. — 
How  have  I  for  thee  suffered ! 
—Still  will  I  suffer— 
And  uncomplainingly  woman's  lot 
Upon  me  take: 

For  to  make  atonement  of  man's  sin 
Was  woman  born. 
Thou  art  innocent. 
— Sacred  was  the  hour — 
His  baseness  I'll  forgive 
And  heaven  bless 

1  thee  possess. 


28 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 


INTERLUDE. 

A  Bride  Adorned  for  Her 

Husband. 

A  maiden  singing: 

Why  such  infinite  pains 

For  my  dress 

And  my  adorning? 

'Tis  for  him. 

His  joy 

Is  all  my  thought  and  care. 

No  misplaced  lock 

Must  show  hair. 

No  unsmoothed  ruffle 

Disclose  my  dress. 

Bach  one  a  treasured  flower 

One  more  for  him 

To  crush  and  disarrange. 

To  the  brim  would  I  fill  his  cup 

And  rich  his  spoiling  make 

For  Life's  one  sweetest  hour 

Is  the  Bridal  Hour. 


29 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

ACT  IV.     LEGENDARY. 

Heaven  and  Earth  United  in  Love's  Holy  Hour. 

Cupid,  Ronald  and  Beatrice,  Nymphs,  etc. 

I.     LOVE'S  HOLY  HOUR. 

CUPID,  to  the  lovers: 

When  once  upon  a  time 
The  Lord  of  Life 
A  charmed  flower  would  plant, 
He  did  not  with  lightning  rend  the  sky 
And  summoned  not  the  giants  of  the  air 
With  thunder-trumpet  forth. 
Gentleness  he  laid  upon  his  mighty  strength. 
He  sought  a  shaded,  dewy  spot, 
He  hushed  the  storm 
And  hung-  ^Eol's  harp 
Upon  the  entrance 
Of  the  foliage-covered  bower 
Hid  from  the  garish  sun. 
There  in  the  moist  earth 
A  little  root  he  buried, 
And  painted  green 
The  broad  leaves 
Of  the  jewel's  setting. 
The  flower-bell 
He  made  of  purest  white, 
Gave  it  a  golden  heart, 
And  sent  an  angel 
To  hide  therein 
A  maiden-kiss. 

So  was  the  lily  of  the  valley  made. 
Modest,  yet  in  beauty  unsurpassed, 
Of  faith  and  love  and  hope 
The  emblem  grows. 

So  kiss  the  kiss  of  youth 
As  lilies  kiss : 
And  kiss  again, 
And  deeper  yet  again, 
Till  ye  be  no  longer  twain. 

to  herself: 

I  am  nearly  faint, 
My  bosom  heaves, 
My  heart  beats  fast, 

30 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

A  virgin  I  am  to  the  altar  led 
To  be  a  woman  born. 

RONALD,  to  himself: 

How  pure, 

How  beautiful  and  lovely, 
Is  Beatrice,  my  bride. 
How  trustful  the  questioning 
Of  her  eyes ! 

What  lips  for  kissing  made! 
Fair  art  thou  as  the  placid  lake, 
Thy  face  of  heaven's  blue 
The  perfect  mirror. 
O  may  no  cloud  thy  radiance  dim 
As  in  awe  I  take  thee  to  myself 
And  in  thy  kisses  bathe. 


I  dare  not  look  again, 
My  heart  keep  still, 
The  consort  of  the  gods 
Is  not  for  thee. 

Then  to  Beatrice,  taking  her  hand  and  caressing  it: 

Dearest,  dost  remember, 
When  first  thou  gavest  me  this  hand? 
'Twas  at  my  mother's  grave, 
Thou  stood'st  beside  me  there, 
'Twas  God  who  led  thee  there. 
In  that  hour  of  darkness 
Thou  earnest  a  shining  star 
Across  my  path. 

Thy  gentle  sympathy  brought  hope 
In  hopeless  days. 
Thou  griev'dst  with  me, 
And  assuaged'st  my  grief. 
Thy  modest  dignity  entranced  my  heart. 

Sweet  were  our  wooing  days. 
Sweet  the  light 
Then  shining  in  thine  eyes. 
I  knew  thou  lovedst  me  truly, 
Yet  kep'st  thyself  .a  guarded  fortress. 
But  in  that  hour  so  holy 
When  the  stars  their  love-beams  twinkle, 
And  angels  from  immortal  thrones  descend 

31 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

To  sigh  for  mortal  bliss 

Thou  didst  of  me  accept  thy  bridal  kiss. 

0  the  thrills  and  rapture  of  that  kiss ! 
On  this  day  that  thou  art  wholly  mine, 
O  kiss  it  to  me  again 

A  thousand  thousand  times. 

CUPID,  handing  Beatrice  Love's  magic  mirror,  reveal- 
ing her  lover: 
BEATRICE^  absorbed  in  the  mirror: 

1  always  knew  my  Ronald  was  a  man, 
And  altogether  a  man, 

Yet  far  handsomer  is  he 

Than  ever  I  divined. 

How  erect  he  stands, 

How  graceful  in  his  strength, 

From  head  to  foot 

No  blemish  upon  him  anywhere. 

No  puny,  weakling  seed 

From  him  can  issue. 

O  Ronald,  gladly  and  undismayed 

Is  Beatrice  thy  bride. 

O  that  I  had  a  thousand  hearts  to  give 
Instead  of  one, 
And  were  a  goddess  now, 
Then  heaven's  lights  would  I  pluck 
To  weave  my  lover's  crown : 
Yet  though  I  gave  the  day, 
And  all  the  brightness  of  the  sky, 
'Twere  not  half  I  fain  would  give  to  thee. 


32 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

II.     ELYSIUM. 

The  Betrothed  Asleep,  or  in  a  Dream.     The  Angel- 
Choir,  Nymphs,  Furies,  etc. 

Historical. 

According  to  an  old  Thuringian  legend,  each  undefiled 
earthly  marriage  had  a  heavenly  counterpart.  It  was  said 
that  at  the  instant  of  the  wedded  bridegroom's  first  kiss, 
the  souls  of  the  lovers  were  transplanted  to  Heaven  by 
two  bridal  nymphs,  named  Nereid  and  Naiad,  who  con- 
ducted them  to  the  Elysian  regions  and  acted  as  their 
guide  through  the  heavenly  nuptials. 

Antiphonal  lightning  from  the  Evening  and  Morn- 
ing stars  announces  to  the  dwellers  in  heaven  the 
approach  of  the  Bridal  Souls. 

SONG  OF  THE  HEAVENLY  CHOIR. 
Hail  to  the  Holy  One, 
Hail  to  the  Chosen  One, 
Hail  to  the  Bride, 
The  morning-star  of  Life. 

NAIAD,  a  nymph,  to  the  Betrothed: 

O   Happy  mortals, 
Who  have  vowed  the  vow 
Heaven-pleasing, 
Earth-redeeming, 
Here  in  Elysium's  bowers 
.    Plight  your  troth  anew 
That  everything  on  earth  begun 
In  heaven  its  completion  find. 

,  a  nymph,  to  Ronald: 

Consider  the  jewel  that  to  thee  is  given, 
For  thou  knowest  not 
The  age-long  groaning  of  the  universe, 
The  yearning,  silent  brooding 
Of  the;  Spirit 
Till  from  chaos 
Woman's  beauty  did  arise : 
Nor  how  in  agonies  untold 
And  blindly  groping, 
Ever  upward  striving, 
Ever  thwarted,  devious  paths 
Compelled  to  wander, 
Seeking  light 

33 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

And  never  the  veil  of  darkness 

Fully  piercing, 

Thirsting  after  truth, 

And  still  unquenched  remaining: 

O  in  what  birth-throes 

Is  perfection  born! 

-'There  she  stands, 
Heaven's  glory,  now  thy  bride. 

RONALD,  upon  beholding  a  vision  of  Beatrice: 

0  Beatrice,  my  bride, 

How  spotlessly  thy  robe  of  innocence 
Thy  hidden  worth  proclaims. 
Thy  eyes,  thy  lips,  thy  hair 
Betray  the  sapphire-glow  within. 
How  marvelous  the  soul 
That  such  an  habitation 
For  its  dwelling  framed ! 
Thy  skin  so  white ; 
Thy  crimson  blush 
As  roses  in  the  morning-dew. 
Thy  arms  a  Goddess  lent  thee, 
Thy  hands  the  Graces  kissed, 
Thy  loins  in  Beauty's  curves  enclosed, 
Thy  feet  with  angel  sandals  shod: 
Thou  art  the  queen  of  heaven 
And  fairer  than  the  fair, 
.    Never  eyes  have  seen  such  comeliness 
As  can  with  thee  compare. 

CUNINA,  the  disconsolate  nymph  of  heaven,  ap- 
proaches to  conduct  the  lovers  to  Fensalir,  ivhere  they 
are  to  drink  the  Cup  of  Immortality. 

(Note:  It  is  said  that  Cunina  always  took  unusual  in- 
terest in  the  affairs  of  men.  Once  she  witnessed  the  blush 
of  a  maiden  at  her  first  kiss  and  at  another  time  came  upon 
a  young  mother  at  play  with  her  babe.  She  believed  that 
here  she  saw  happiness  unknown  in  heaven.  Thereafter 
she  ever  remained  disconsolate.) 

CUNINA,  to  the  lovers: 

1  have  dwelt  on  earth 
And  seen  its  sorrows, 
Beheld  its  pains 

And  mourned  the  desolation 
That  from  human  sin  leaps  forth : 
Yet  love  for  all  is  compensation, 

34 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

The  healing  balm  for  deepest  wounds. 

We  here  are  called  the  Blest: 

We  have  no  night, 

And  hence  know  not  the  morning  thrill. 

Here,  where  we  never  grow  old, 

We  were  never  young. 

We,  that  weep  not  at  the  grave, 

Can  never  feel  the  cradle-smile 

Tugging  at  the  mother-heart 

And  where  there  is  no  sorrow 

Rejoicing  hath  but  half  its  worth. 

O,  for  an  hour  of  youth  and  love 

I  would  exchange  my  changeless  bliss 

And  count  not  death 

Too  high  a  price 

To  gain  a  lover's  kiss. 

And  if  over  love  that  is  lost 

I  must  mourn 

The  bitter-sweetness 

Still  is  sweet. 

(Secretly  Cunina  now  binds  the  lovers  with  the  sil- 
ver-chord of  love  to  unchanging  faithfulness.  Furies 
in  the  background  mutter  their  curses,  but  are  not  dis- 
tinctly heard  by  human  ears.) 

FIRST  FURY,  to  the  lovers: 

Bride  and  bridegroom 
Say  ye  that  ye  are, 
And  in  one  short  hour  would  quaff 
The  happiness 
Of  all  eternity's  distilling. 
Q  heedless  sons  of  men, 
Heaven's  greatest  gift 
Far  too  lightly  do  ye  judge. 
Never  to  Fensalir  shall  ye  pass 
Till  ye  swear 

With  your  souls  forever  to  pay 
The  penalty  of  faithlessness. 

THE:  FURIES,  in  chorus: 

And  if  ye  break  your  vows 
We  will  rend  your  heart 
And  blind  your  eyes 
And  sink  you  into  the  vortex  of  hell, 

35 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

We  will,  we  will. 
CUNINA,  sadly: 

And  the  innocent 

Shall  suffer  more  than  the  guilty. 
SECOND  FURY,  to  Ronald: 

And  I  will  scatter  thy  youth, 

And  shatter  thy  hopes, 

And  the  death-knell 

In  thy  marrow  rattle. 
CUNINA  : 

And  the  innocent 

Shall  suffer  more  than  the  guilty. 
THIRD  FURY,  to  Beatrice: 

And  with  the  furrows 

Of  sorrow 

Will  I  mar  thy  face. 

And  for  repentance 

There  shall  be  no  room 

In  thy  doom. 
CUNINA: 

And  the  innocent 

Shall  suffer  more  than  the  guilty. 

(Tremblingly  Beatrice  seeks  shelter  in  Ronald's 
arms,  who  stoops  to  caress  her,  whereupon,  since  love 
is  stronger  than  fear,  the  Furies  vanish.) 

CUNINA,  to  Beatrice: 

O  happy  daughter  of  earth, 
Heaven's  goldenest  path 
Dost  thou  tread. 
With  thee  to  thy  joy 
We  may  not  enter. 
Thy  consecration 
Is  to  us  denied: 
For  we  are  vestals  only, 
But  thou  of  Life 
The  sacred  shrine  itself. 

(The  lovers  enter  Fensalir.) 

HEAVENLY  CHOIR: 

And   God  saw  the  works 
Which  he  had  made 
And  behold,  they  were  very  good. 

36 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

III.     FENSALIR,  THE  TEMPLE  OF 
IMMORTALITY. 

The  lovers  asleep,  agitated  by  dreams  and  visions. 

RONALD  (in  a  dream),  to  Beatrice: 

O  Beatrice,  queen  of  my  heart, 
Surpassing  fair  thoti  art. 
Heaven's  radiance  is  upon  thy  brow, 
And  fairies  in  the  silver-spray 
Are  thy  roseate  image  tracing. 
Give  me  thy  lips  again 
That  I  may  swear  my  soul  anew  to  thee. 
To  the  awe  of  angels  let  us  go, 
Love's  sealing  there  receive 
And  our  completer  self  attain. 
At  thy  being's  solemn  quiver 
I  will  near  thee  stand. 

BEATRICE  (in  a  dream),  to  herself: 
How  strange  is  Love ! 

How  deep  its  mysteries ! 

Who  is  worthy 

Life's  secret  springs  to  touch 

And  drink  the  resurrection-kiss? 

Hera,  the   Goddess  of  Health,  enters  and  presents  the 
Cup  of  Immortality  to  the  Lovers: — 

This  is  the  Cup  of  Immortality, 

Take  each  your  chalice, 

And  drink  of  it. 

— Then  self  with  self  exchange — 

And  press  it  to  each  other's  lips, 

And  from  the  self-same  spot 

The  other  drank 

Quaff  it  to  the  end 

Till  soul  in  soul  dissolve: 

For  in  the  bridal  blush  to  glow 

Is  creation's  final,  perfect  end. 

The  echo  of  the  Heavenly  Choir  is  heard  in  the 
portals  of  Fensalir: 

What  in  heaven 
God  hath  joined  to-gether, 
Let  not  man 
Asunder  part.  $ 

37 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 

RONALD  (in  a  vision),  to  Beatrice,  while  drinking  with 
her  the  immortal  cup: 

O  Beatrice,  bride  of  brides, 

With  wealth  untold 

In  thee  love's  kingdom  is  endowed. 

I  gaze  into  thine  eyes : 

I  drink  thy  soul, 

— Do  thou  drink  mine, — 

'Tis  heaven  itself — O  more  than  heaven — 

I  wed  thee  to  an  everlasting  kiss, 

I  am  of  thee — O  happiness  of  happiness — 

And  thou  of  me,  forever  and  forever, 

Each  other's  love-kissed  other  self. 
From  Adnir,  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow,  out  of  the 
abyss  of  the  Unborn,  whose  bonds  only  maiden-hands 
can  loosen,  prayer  ascends  to  Beatrice's  ears: 
From  out  of  the  shadowy  deep, 

From  the  timeless  gloom 

And  fetters  of  night, 

For  our  deliverance, 

O  maiden,  we  plead  with  thee. 

Our  unformed  beings  pity: 

0  give  us  the  dawn: 

With  thyself  our  hunger  still, 

And  of  the  rainbow  weave  us 

Childhood's  garment 

Of  laughter  and  frolicsome  days. 

Thy  prayers  teach  our  lips, 

And  softly  sing  thy  speech  our  mother-tongue. 

Sow  freely  of  thy  heart's  aspiring 

Reap  in  us  thy  harvest  of  hope, 

And  out  of  our  helplessness 

Build  thee  the  fairest  castle 

Of  thy  soul. 

BEATRICE,  sings  softly: 

Tiny  blossoms 

Praying  for  the  morning  sun, 
Tiny  hands 

By  mother-yearning  answered, 
Tiny  tears 

By  tenderest  pity  dried: 
Heaven's  flowers 

1  water  with  my  hands. 

38 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice.  ;,  ,  •'.'•  • 

INTERLUDE. 
The  Maiden  at  Her  Devotions. 

A  maiden  singing: 

When  at  eventide 

At  my  bedside 

I  bend  my  knees, 

All  evil  from  me  flees. 

In    the    confessing   tear 

My  God  draws  near. 

O  blessed  hour  of  prayer, 

How  sweet  to  linger 

In  thy  fragrant  air, 

Where  bloom  the  flowers 

Of  the  morning-sun. 

ACT  V.     EUNICE,  THE  UNWOOED. 

Scene:     After  the  wedding.    Eunice,  a  bridesmaid, 
in  her  bed-chamber. 

EUNICE,  sitting  upon  her  bed,  partly  disrobed,  toying 
zvith  the  flowers  from  the  bridal  girdle: 

How  becomingly  did  this  girdle 
The  princess  Beatrice  encircle ! 
How  proud  she  looked 
When  so  tenderly 
Ronald  did  unloosen  it! 
How  beautiful  to  be  a  bride, 
O  how  I  long — 
'Tis  woman's  glory, 
Tis  her  all. 

Was  I  a  woman  born 
To  be  denied  my  right? 
And  shall  my  nature 
Never  reach  its  full  intoxication? 
Nor  never  know  its  rightful  pangs? 
And  never  taste  the  joy 
That  lies  beyond  the  mortal  agony? 
Shall  I  never  minister  my  infant's  wants, 
No  darling  carry  on  my  breast? 
O  who  damns  me  so  to  fail 
Of  my  destiny: 
That  childless,  unkissed  % 

39 


The  Sacred  Betrothal 


And  empty-handed 

My  lonely,  unmourned  grave 

I  must  seek? 

Full  twenty  summers  have  I  seen 
Under  my  window 
The  linden-tree 
Deck  herself  in  bridal  green ; 
And  heard  the  robin 
Twitter  to  its  mate: 
"Hey-ho,  Springtime  is  love-time, 
Here  will  we  build  our  nest, 
And  rear  our  brood, 
And  live  for  love 
And  love  for  life, 
Hey-ho,  hey-ho." 

O  is  there  no  throne 
In  the  heart  of  some  brave  youth 
Where  I  may  reign? 
What  sin  have  I  committed 
That  no  lover 

In  the  world  is  found  for  me? 
Am  I  not  worthy  as  my  sisters? 
Hath  another 
As  much  as  I  to  give  ? 
Is  it  in  vain 

That  pure  I  kept  myself 
For  him  who  does  not  come? 

In  the  dance 

Some  have  drawn  me  close, 
And  whispered  words  unlawful: 
For  1  missed  the  love-lit  eyes 
Of  Passion's  sacred  fire 
Guarded  holy  in  the  heart. 
Wanton  indulgence  they  sought 
And  would  heaven  itself  defile 
To  gain  a  victim  for  their  lust. 
No  woman's  heart  could  they  unclasp 
They  meant  not  as  they  should, 
They  wooed  not  truly, 
But  added  to  my  sorrow 
That  tempters  there  are  many 
And  lovers  none. 
O  God,  remember  me! 


40 


of  Ronald  and  Beatrice. 

ACT  VI.     BEATRICE,  THE  HAPPY. 
The  New  Life. 

BEATRICE,  to  herself: 

The  secret  longings  of  my  being 

Are  now  fulfilled. 

The  eternal  pleading  answered. 

I  am  a  happy  bride. 

Proudly  my  crown  I  wear, 

The  chariots  of  eternity  I  guide. 
Then  to  Ronald: 

My  star  is  risen  high, 

With  honor  thy  ring  I  wear. 

Give  thy  wife  thy  lips 

To  kiss  thee 

With  her  new  kiss. 

At  the  appointed  time 

Thy  prayer  shall  be  granted  thee. 
***** 

So  now  shelter  me, 
And  watch  over  me 
With  thy  tenderest  care. 
Sweetly  in  thy  arms 
Will  I  sleep 
Till  the  morning  dawn 
In  the  East. 

Then  do  thou  waken  me 
With  thy  husband-kiss. 

POSTLUDE. 
The   Treasure  of  the  Toiler's   Home, 

or  The  Husband's  Kiss. 
A  maiden  singing: 

When  standing  in  our  door-ivay, 

The  eifen  twilight 

Round  me  gathers, 

And  thy  child  in  my  arms 

Down  the  roadside 

His  father's  form  discovers, 

Returning  from  thy  toil, 

And  my  heart  once  more 

Beats  calm 

In  assurance  of  my  prayer  anszvered 

That  spared  thee  through  the  day. 

Then,  O  then,  kiss  me 

With  thy  husband-kiss. 

[THE  END.] 
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